31/07/2025
Closing a $10 million deal, I gave my wife the money bag for safekeeping overnight. The next morning, she was gone. Phones off. Just a note on the table: "Thanks for the money, I’m starting fresh with my boyfriend, and good luck starting from scratch." I couldn’t help but laugh because the bag... she stole was actually......
Closing a $10 million deal feels like standing on top of the world. I remember thinking, This is the moment I'll remember for the rest of my life. I was right, just not for the reasons I expected.
I brought the contract and the "celebratory handoff" home—a symbolic leather duffel filled with placeholder cash. When I got home, my wife, Ria, was waiting in silk pajamas. She smiled as I set the bag down.
"All that money... just sitting there. You trust me not to run away with it?" she joked, but her eyes weren't joking.
I smiled. "Of course, darling. You're my wife."
"I'll keep it in the closet tonight," she said. "Just in case."
I nodded, kissed her good night, and collapsed into sleep. When I woke up, she was gone. Her clothes, her phones, and the money bag. On the kitchen counter sat a single folded note.
Thanks for the money, babe. I'm starting over with my boyfriend. Good luck starting from scratch. - Ria
I stared at it. Then I laughed. It wasn't the laugh of a broken man. It was the laugh of a chess master watching his opponent walk directly into a checkmate he'd set up ten moves ago.
Ria thought she was clever. But she didn't know that I don't just deal with money. I deal with risk, with snakes in suits and betrayal dressed in smiles. Months ago, I had this bag custom-made, filled with high-grade replica currency and, stitched into the bottom lining, a GPS tracker. Not for theft protection. For insurance.
I sat at my desk and opened the tracking app. There it was, moving south on Highway 17. I opened my cloud camera footage. 2:17 a.m.: Ria slipping out. 2:19 a.m.: She stopped to kiss someone. Darren, my ex-gym buddy. I zoomed in on the frame of them carrying the bag into his car, and then I smiled again.
My phone buzzed—a blocked number. I answered on speaker, sipping coffee.
"John," Ria's voice hissed. "What the hell is this?"
"Good morning, sunshine," I said cheerfully. "Sleeping in the woods now, are we?"
"You gave me fake money."
"No, Ria. There's a key distinction here. I gave you fake money. You, however, stole it with the belief it was real. That's called 'intent.' It's a fun legal term you'll be learning a lot about soon."
"You planned this?"
"You bet I did. In my world, you don't just plan for success. You plan for betrayal."
"You're a psycho."
"No," I replied, calm as a surgeon. "I'm a strategist. Oh, and by the way, you and Darren might want to move fast."
"What do you mean?"
"I may have let your little heist run its course, but now I'm calling the cops and reporting the bag stolen. With your names and your location."
"You wouldn't."
"Oh, but I already did." Click.
Twenty minutes later, the GPS tracker stopped moving. I had already filed a formal police report: theft of a symbolic asset related to a high-value transaction, complete with video footage and license plate details. Here's what most people forget: even with fake bills, intent to steal and misuse of company property are still crimes, especially when tied to a major contract.
At 10:12 a.m. that same day, I received a photo from my lawyer: Darren, face down on the hood of a police car, being cuffed. Ria, tear-streaked and screaming in the background, barefoot in the gravel driveway of that trashy rental cabin. A message came with it: Arrested without incident. Police retrieved the bag. Charges pending. Want to press for felony or walk away?
Full in the first c0mment 👇
